


Growing Pains

by Alcoholic_Kangaroo



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Weird Biology, Weird Corkscrew Duck Penises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcoholic_Kangaroo/pseuds/Alcoholic_Kangaroo
Summary: Fenton is going through his "growing" phase of pre-mating season and is feeling a bit worn down. Gyro is somewhat fascinated by the idea of giant duck dicks.
Relationships: Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera/Gyro Gearloose
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I was researching duck penises, and that sounds worse than it was I swear, when I started finding articles saying that after mating seasons some ducks just have their penis wither and fall off and then they regrow them next mating season. The articles are kinda sketchy, some say they just kinda shrink instead, I suppose like how people can still lose weight without their skin just sloughing off, but whatever, I was already latched onto the idea. Don’t expect any of this to be biologically correct, I’m just writing whatever I want here.

Gyro likes to just watch Fenton sometimes. He’s just so…nice looking. Not in the sense that he is physically attractive, which he is, the vapid idiot, but his expressions are disgustingly charming. The way he frowns endearingly when he is concentrating on a mathematical equation or the way he squints his big, gullible eyes when he’s trying to focus on the meniscus in a beaker. The way he smiles proudly, not a smirk but a genuine smile, when something goes right with an experiment. Those expressions leave something disturbingly warm inside of Gyro’s chest that he prefers not to think of because if he did he may have to admit that maybe there are more important things than science and technology in this world. Well, things as important as science and technology, anyway.

So Gyro just ignores that feeling and he watches him. He doesn’t let Fenton know that he likes to watch him or even that he is watching him, if he can help it. Normally, his intern is so engulfed in concentration that he is absolutely oblivious to Gyro’s gaze. If he does happen to look up, Gyro just shifts his eyes slightly, down or to the side, and ask him, lacing his voice with disdain, what he is working on now. Exasperated. Even if he is working on something Gyro told him to work on and is following his instructions to the letter. Fenton always gives him an upbeat answer, all but asking for his approval like a puppy wagging its tail at his feet. Approval that Gyro rarely gives, usually just grumbling out some affirmative response and walking away to find something else to look at for awhile.

Anyway, that doesn’t happen much. Fenton is so naïve, so trusting. If Gyro commanded him to get on his knees while in the middle of already unzipping his own pants, Fenton would probably ask him if he had dropped another screw and needed help looking for it.

He’s so very young. Well, he feels young, anyway, compared to Gyro’s own long, bitter, grizzled thirty-six years on the planet. Except twenty-four isn’t really that young. He’s just unusually optimistic and innocent for his age. And that baby face. No creases in his forehead or bags under his eyes.

Not usually, anyway.

If staring at Fenton for months has done anything, it has taught Gyro to notice when something is off with his intern. And something is definitely off. Every day for the past week, Fenton had shown up for work looking more and more tired, haggard, and uncomfortable. He yawns. He fidgets. Once, Gyro even saw him slap himself hard in the face when he started to doze off. He’s even started drinking black tea just to keep alert even though caffeine doesn’t usually agree with him and he could never stomach actual coffee.

Gyro knows that being an intern can be stressful and being under-paid, under-fed, and under-rested are the hallmarks of being one, but he can’t help but feel a little guilty. Fenton works twelve-hour days, for no pay, and then “tests” the Gizmoduck armor instead of enjoying his own free time. He’s being run ragged.

He tells him so himself, in his own infinitely tactful way.

“You look like shit, Intern.”

“What?” Fenton looks up from his work, his jaw slack with confusion. He looks like he just woke up from an extremely deep sleep, perhaps with dried saliva on his face, which is not the way anybody should look when they’re handling a soldering iron.

“You’re wearing yourself out. You’re no use to me in this condition. Why don’t you go home for the day and get some rest. Leave the Gizmoduck suit here, I wanted to upgrade some of the software in it.”

“No,” Fenton blurts out quickly, shaking his head. He’s trying to set down the soldering iron and he fumbles it, nearly dropping the equipment and risking a burn. On instinct, Gyro’s already reaching for it, but the duck manages to finally get a firm grip on it and set it on its holder. “I swear I’m fine. And I have work to do. I’m good here.”

“You’re obviously not,” Gyro curls his lips in show but honestly, overtired, sleepy Fenton is heartbreakingly adorably and he isn’t sure if he wants to slap him awake himself or tuck him into bed. “You look like death warmed over. If I’ve been working you too hard you should’ve-“

“You haven’t,” Fenton cuts him off harshly, but then he’s wincing at his own tone, smiling weakly at Gyro in apology. “Really. I love my job, Dr. Gearloose. I love working for you, with you. I can’t imagine anything else I’d want to be doing right now.”

Gyro pushes down the blossom of heat in his belly at hearing the “love” and “you” so close to one another and continues to chide the young man.

“But you obviously haven’t been getting enough sleep, I think you’re even losing weight.”

“It has nothing to do with anything with working here. Or Gizmoduck. I swear.”

Gyro is silent for a moment, mulling over the words. How can it not have to do with Fenton’s work here? He spends almost all his time here or controlling the Gizmosuit, which really is just an extension of his job here. Unless he’s worrying about money or caught a disease or-

Despite the rumors, Gyro is not actually a robot. He understands that there are reasons people can come off as ill besides physical diseases. He understands that mental illness is its own legitimate study. He also understands that sometimes everyday problems get to people – anxiety, stress, all that junk.

“You know,” he starts slowly, tapping his fingers on the surface, “If something is wrong, you can talk to me about it. I know I’m not the friendliest guy in the world but I’m pretty good at fixing people’s problems.”

“This isn’t anything that can be fixed,” Fenton says, before his eyes widen for a second as if he said something he hadn’t meant to. Then his eyes are back down at his work, tinkering with some fine wires. Thankfully, he isn’t reaching back for the soldering iron.

“There’s always a solution to every question,” Gyro prods, moving closer. His shoe touches one of Fenton’s feet.

“Well, maybe,” Fenton admits, his voice taking a distant, introspective tone as he trails off. It’s one Gyro recognizes as his ‘I’m this close to delving into a new revolutionary idea that may take years of intense study and hundreds of thousands of dollars in funding’ tone of voice. Gyro has one of those too, though it could never sound as breathy and wistful as Fenton’s. But then it breaks and his intern is back into business as usual mode. “But that doesn’t help me out right now.”

Gyro is quiet, waiting. He doesn’t want to question Fenton further, he is his employee, and it is starting to feel like an invasion of the intern’s privacy, but just standing there silently beside him is enough to get to him. Fenton closes his eyes and sets the wires back down, rubbing at his eyes. Resting his elbows on the counter, he presses his face into his palms.

“It’s, it’s March,” he finally says.

“March 7th,” Gyro says automatically, on reflex.

“It’s _March_ ,” Fenton repeats, drawing out the name of the month. ‘It’s March. And I’m a male duck.”

“So what does tha- oh my God! I’m sorry. I hadn’t even thought about- Why didn’t you tell me you needed a few days off?”

“Because I don’t,” he replies firmly, his voice still muffled through his fingers. “I’m a little tired but I’m fine.”

For once, Fenton is the expert in this room on a subject. Gyro is aware of duck physiology; he is a scientist who has experiment on more than one duck in his lifetime. But understanding how a body works and living in that body are two totally separate things. Maybe Fenton is fine. Gyro knows that some males are fine this time of the year. Or at least capable of carrying on with their everyday lives. He also knows some are not. Would Fenton tell him if he really needed a break? Or would he be afraid of Gyro thinking less of him for showing some weakness?

“Well, if you feel like you need to go home early and lie down or something you don’t need to ask me,” he says finally. Then he adds onto the sentiment. “You don’t even have to tell me. You can just go whenever you want for the next couple weeks and I won’t say anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Fenton agrees softly. His cheeks are pink though. And Gyro can tell from how hot his own are that he is also blushing. This is a…sensitive topic to say the least.

* * *

Gyro is a chicken. Being a chicken is, in many regards, convenient. Further removed from basic biological impulses than the mammals and other birds, Gyro had been afforded more time to put towards his studies and creations over the years. No foolish mating seasons and the like. Duck on the other hand, well…

They still have it better off than the mammals.

But the whole business…down there.

He remembers the rumors from childhood and how the rumors were not fully clarified until middle school health class. He remembers how the girls would whisper in high school and how their attitudes would flip-flop as the seasons changed. He remembers the jokes about how every girl needs a duck date for the spring fling but maybe stick with a rooster for the fall ball. And he remembers how those jokes had been more than jokes because he had never been invited to any of the spring socials, but he had been courted by the occasional girl in the fall and winter.

The dichotomy has always fascinated him, if he were to be honest. The two widely varying views on taking a duck as a lover.

Not that he’s had much experience with such a thing. No experience, actually. Chickens and male ducks usually do not work out in the long run. Not unless you’ve got a chicken with a very strange sex drive.

But, well, he was the idiot who chose to move to Duckburg after graduation. He could have lived anywhere in the world and he chose to live and work in a city with a majority duck population. It’s not that there aren’t other types of birds around, but you can’t help who you fall for. And Fenton is…

Well.

Fenton is just so very, very _sweet_.

It angers Gyro to even think it in his head, he can’t imagine speaking those words out loud. But Fenton is sweet. Fenton is all smiles and rainbows and sunshine. And Gyro has a deep feeling that dating Fenton would be all smiles and rainbows and sunshine. And walks on the beach. Kissing under scattering summer fireworks and handholding on chilly winter strolls under the Christmas lights downtown. Sleepy cuddle dates in front of the television on Friday nights. Fresh cut roses waiting in the kitchen with bacon and toast and the heady scent of brewing coffee even though Fenton doesn’t even drink coffee but he knows Gyro would want some when he woke up and he wanted everything to be perfect for him and really it wasn’t any trouble whatsoever and-

It sickens Gyro that he even thinks about these things.

But it leaves a longing in his chest because he wants those roses and fireworks and that stupid, probably cheap and awful coffee. He wants them so badly he can smell them and hear them and taste them.

He might even want them bad enough to deal with a boyfriend, or husband for that matter, who cannot take part in sex nine months of the year.

Well, that’s not totally true. In reality, the sex restrictions are only in effect around mid-summer, when the, when the… Gyro shudders, even thinking about it, but he forces himself to think about it because if he is seriously thinking of entertaining such an idea as pursuing his intern this is the hard truth and he needs to admit it. Mid-summer is when the majority of a duck’s penis falls off. It’s not like it releases mid-jerk off and just drops to the ground with a heavy thud anyway. It just starts to flake and wither and dry out until it’s a husk and then it just flakes off like the dead skin from a snake.

There’s still a nub. Gyro has read that reaching orgasm in this form is difficult for many and even impossible for some, but not unfeasible. It is, in theory, still possible to take part in sexual relations as long as the male is not expected to attempt any sort of penetration himself.

In theory, because most male ducks don’t seem to have much of a sex drive this time of the year. Or maybe it’s just too embarrassing for them to want to be intimate with their lovers. Maybe orgasms are too shameful to coax out when your dick is a half-inch long.

Besides, mid-summer, when the penis is flaking and molting, the only other time when a duck is incapable of sexual relations is, well, now. When it’s growing. Because that’s what is wrong with Fenton right now. His body is readying itself for mating season, a past biological relic that barely affects most ducks today, but his body does not know or care about that and has decided the best way to make a nice, big clutch of fertilized eggs is to have a nice, big penis. A nice, big, ribbed penis that, from what Gyro has read, feels amazing inside you, be you duck, chicken, female, or male.

Almost as embarrassing as his crush on Fenton is Gyro’s other secret: he is a bottom.

Or he prefers to bottom, anyway, because, well, who wouldn’t? The orgasms are so much better with a nice, hard cock inside you. And he relishes in being worshipped. Bottoming allows him to just lay there and let another person service him as he just enjoys himself as somebody else does all the work for once. It is a rarely afforded luxury.

God, how humiliating would that be, letting Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera fuck him?

He’s so small. Just a puny little slip of a thing, barely reaching his own chin. Like fucking a lapdog. And he’s younger. And not as intelligent. And he about as graceful as a hippo ballerina.

And, and…so damn cute.

Gyro is so fucked.

* * *

It only gets worse from there. It isn’t that Gyro usually spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about what Fenton had, or didn’t have, down there. But as the next few days creep by he now finds himself actively thinking about what is happening, what is stirring, what is _growing_ , beneath the knee-length lab coat his intern has refused to remove over the last few days. And once he starts thinking about it he starts thinking about what he wants to do with it and now he’s not getting any work done and Fenton is barely getting any done and their productivity rate has to have dropped by seventy percent at this point and Gyro wishes Fenton would just leave already.

Except he doesn’t really. That’s why he doesn’t just tell him to. Even though Fenton is still exhausted on his feet and has even started to sway by late afternoon. And how many days has it been now? Nine? Ten? If Gyro remembers from his biology classes, most males finish up with their growing around the eighth or ninth so does that mean that Fenton is unusually slow? Or is he just…unusually large?

The shiver that runs down Gyro’s spine is visible. In fact, his entire body trembles for a second, and Fenton, who is standing close enough to him that their shoulders brush, feels it.

“Is it cold in here?” Fenton asks. He’s jotting down some notes and doesn’t look up from them. And he’s so fucking cute with the way he reaches up to hold his chin as he checks over his work. Yes, Gyro would 100% bottom for the adorable little dolt. Hell, he’d even top him, if it meant just getting to touch him and kiss him finally.

“N, no. Just a cold chill, I guess. Your calculations are wrong, that’s a five, not a six.”

“Ah,” Fenton agrees, scribbling out his mistake. “I’m sorry, I’m a little tired today. Eyes keep blurring.”

“Yes, well,” Gyro says, but that is his response because he elaborates no further. He walks away from Fenton and goes to sit behind one of the computers to input the new numbers. Except there is the sudden sound of footsteps moving quickly behind him and when he turns around he just sees the back of Fenton, running so quickly that his tail is exposed and why has he missed the sight of that stupid tail so much over the last few days? It’s not even a nice tail. It’s just a little brown poof, more like a cottontail rabbit than a noble bird.

“Intern,” Gyro calls out after him, “Where are you going? We aren’t finished yet.”

“Bathroom!” Fenton responds, not even turning to look back at him. “I’ll be right back!”

Gyro waits until he is sure Fenton is out of the room and begins to bang his head against his keyboard.

He’d bet his life that Fenton has reached the erection phase of the growth. It’ll subside in just a couple of days, it’s the last stage of all this mess, but it’s only Tuesday which means that Gyro now has to deal with Fenton sprouting sudden, uncontrollable boners in his presence, possibly until the end of the week. If they were at least a reaction to his own magnificent presence that would be one thing, but they both know it’s just a biological adaption. Stretch it out, let it get some fresh air, make sure the blood is flooding correctly. All that jazz.

And then everything will be back to normal. Sure, maybe Fenton might find himself a little more confident than usual – mostly in thanks to the flood of hormones that will still rack his body for the next few months. And maybe he’ll get a little depressed that he doesn’t have a girlfriend to spend the season with. But who doesn’t get a bit of the romance blues in the spring?

All Gyro can think of is what Fenton is doing in that bathroom right now. Is he sitting on the toilet, cursing and willing for it to go down? Or is he, could he be touching himself? Right there? Just outside the lab doors in one of the public bathrooms?

He licks his lips, thinking about it. About how small Fenton’s hands are and how big his dick probably is in comparison to his small hands. Would he need both of them to wrap around it?

What would the spiraling ridges feel like inside him? How would they feel as they move in and out, grinding, stimulating the sensitive nerve endings of Gyro’s own gaping asshole, stretched wide around his giant cock? How full would he feel inside? Would he even be able to take him all? He’d probably have a stomachache the next day from having an enormous, spiraled cock in his guts and Gyro doesn’t even mind that thought. Would Fenton do it hard from behind him, drilling him so hard that he had to scream in his pillow, leaving him so sore he wouldn’t be able to sit for weeks afterward? Would he be able to look down at his own stomach and see the head moving in his stomach like some bad animated hentai movie?

Why is he so excited about such a prospect?

And fuck, now _Gyro_ is hard. And he can’t just push his way into the same bathroom where Fenton is to hurry up and get rid of it. So, he turns back to the computer and just tries to mentally destroy his own hard-on by visualizing the worse things he can in his head. Imagining Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley fornicating on a pile of rotten fish heads helps, considerably.

Fenton’s face is flushed when he returns. He starts to gather his belongings into his duffle bag, excusing himself without even looking in Gyro’s direction.

“I think I’m going to go home and lay down for a bit,” he says, very quietly, his voice almost lost to the emptiness of the room as he speaks away from him. “I need a nap.”

“That’s fine,” Gyro says, almost surprised by the gentleness of his own voice. He didn’t realize he was capable of sounding so kind. “Take all the time you need.”

Holding the duffle bag before himself, shielding his crotch area, Fenton just gives one short nod. Then he’s heading out the door and Gyro is back to banging his head against the keyboard. He knows he is not going to get anything else done today, Fenton or no Fenton.

Still, he stays until five o’clock, trying to keep busy with some light tinkering for the next six hours. Tightening some loose screws, updating some basic software on a few of the computers, testing out some magnets. Simple stuff.

At five o’clock he gathers up his things and turns to lock up the lab behind him. As he’s walking up the stairs, he pulls out his cell, selects the contact INTERN, and begins to type up a text with his free hand.

_Going to go grab some food at this new gastropub that opened up a couple blocks from your place, you want to come along?_

**Author's Note:**

> I might possibly do a sequel through Fenton's POV, lemme know if that's something I should bother with.


End file.
